


What's Left Of Me (Is In You)

by ensign_amy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensign_amy/pseuds/ensign_amy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his sacrifice in Van Nuys, Castiel finds that his consciousness is lost and is reliving several memories, dreams, and fantasies involving a certain female angel against his will. After all, she was always his voice of reason...except none of the the events are playing out as they're meant to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left Of Me (Is In You)

She only stirs and doesn’t completely wake when he lays down beside her, spooning up against her back. He doesn’t recognize the bedroom or even why he's doing what he's doing, but it doesn’t matter - she’s warm and more welcoming than any garden of empty promises will ever be. The oversized shirt she sleeps in is almost as soft as her skin, and here she lets him touch without a remark.

She smiles and turns her head, eyes still closed. “I didn’t realize you'd dream about me.”

“There was a lot you didn’t know.”

“Mm, things you didn’t know how to tell me,” she replies, a hand coming up over her shoulder to cup his cheek.

His arm tightens around her small waist just slightly. He's never actually held a female in either his vessel or true form. He's never had any inclination to, but this...this was permissible. Even if it is highly reminiscent of something he happened to see on the Winchesters' television. “Yes,” he concedes

“And is this really how you want to remember me?”

He picks his head up at the question, confused. Anna doesn’t move from where she’s lying. “I’m just a dream, Cas.”

 

It’s the day Lucifer fell and he watches from the corner of his eye as Anna drives her blade through the throat of another angel, a follower of Lucifer and traitor to their Father. She was always faster than him, and devious as ever even though she could shine as bright as Michael were she ambitious enough.

It’s then he realizes there’s an enemy angel on top of him and bearing down. Uriel is too far away to call out to.

“Don’t give up,” Anna says calmly. “Soon you’ll remember that it didn’t happen this way.”

 

It’s the night before the final seal is broken and Anna appears behind him, right on schedule. Yet, when he expects her to speak – to tell him it’s worse than she thought, she says nothing. Upon turning around, she only stares expectantly. She knows he’s aware.

“You’re more like the Anna I knew,” he said. “But you’re still just a memory.”

“You’re driving yourself crazy with this. Don’t you think it’s time you let me go?” Anna asked.

Cas remains still, eyes downcast towards the water and leaning on that rail the way he was the night he let them take her. “I was never honest enough with you,” he said simply. “You never knew how much I…”

“I knew,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “…I knew.”

“Which is why you kept your distance.”

Anna neither confirms or denies. She simply stands there and he can feel her eyes fixed on him, as cold and impassive as ever. “Maybe. Now forget it. You’ll never know. And you don't need to.”

 

It’s sometime in March of 2011. While this Anna would never breathe a word of it, she worries about Cas from the moment he climbs into the Impala’s backseat until the moment she hears him come in the front door, often tired, often muddy, and often at odd hours of the night.

Her swollen belly is pressed between them as they embrace and for some reason he knows the child has been kicking her incessantly.

When she pulls back, she shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. It isn't a look of displeasure, so much as it's confusion. Or perhaps surprise, though perhaps a bit of both. “What is this?” she asks. “This isn’t me.”

He sighs. She does have a point and in a realistic situation, he'd just as likely be the one confused. “I...think I would have liked for it to be. Theoretically speaking.”

At that, Anna does nod as if she understands. “I know. But you’re killing yourself.”

She reaches up and pulls his head down for a kiss, her lips gentle upon his forehead.

 

He recognizes Uriel’s lifeless vessel when he sees it, wings burned and spread out across the concrete floor. It’s as real as the blood that’s flowing from the open wounds on his nose and mouth. Anna is standing next to him and smiles nervously, close-lipped and every bit as frightened at her actions as he.

“This made it into your memories?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t be alive were it not for you,” he replies, staring sadly at Uriel. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Looking down as well, Anna reaches over and takes his hand, her fingers icy and cold. “You were scared,” she replied. “And you felt loved. That’s good.”

Frowning, Castiel acknowledges that Anna might be right, but when he looks up at her, there's only one question he asks. His mind is full of doubt. “Was I ever?”

 

They’re standing in a barn and a confrontation is about to take place. He hasn’t seen her in so long – she’s beautiful as a human. Large green eyes, soft ginger hair, and a look of defiance that only his Annael could have possessed.

Sam, Dean, Uriel, Alastair, his demons, and Ruby all play out the scene they’re meant to. Anna merely takes a step forward. “Were you really going to kill me here?” she asks.

Castiel looks over to where Uriel is smiting a demon. Alastair takes a step towards him, but he’s seasoned now - he's been fighting and is well-adjusted to his vessel. He remembers what happened and sidesteps him easily, knocking the demon to the ground. Anna watches with subdued interest.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “Do you believe I would have?”

Anna gives a soft huff of laughter. “I’m in your head,” she says, turning to run over to where Uriel is. “You tell me.”

She reclaims her Grace and everything is consumed in a burst of light.

 

Pain. Heavy, intense, blinding pain is what greets him next and Castiel can do nothing but scream. There were five angels excluding Zachariah and Michael. He killed one and the other four closed in around him.

There’s a burning in his chest and he doesn’t know where he is. He gropes blindly for his knife, but then he remembers he dropped it.

Then strong, cool hands stroke his face. She’s blurry, but he has no reason to believe it isn’t her. He’d recognize that hair colour anywhere.

“A-Anna,” he stammers. “I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I…”

She shushes him, forcing him to lie back. “I've already forgiven you. But you have to keep fighting. There’s somewhere you have to be.”

 

When he wakes up, it’s as if the pain were never there in the first place. He’s lying on an old moth-eaten sofa in the middle of what looks to be an abandoned cabin. He sits up, noting the broken glass and the faintest traces of holy oil still in the area.

Anna is standing over him, hands in the pockets of her coat. “At this rate, you’re never gonna wake up,” she says. “The Apocalypse will be all over before you know it.”

“I have no memory of this place,” he says, bringing himself to stand.

Anna looks around. “It’s because I died here. Right over there, actually.”

She points to the spot near the stairs. “Michael made it as painful as possible...not that I would expect any less,” she adds.

He nods and gathers his thoughts, though a strange, sick feeling has washed over his vessel. He can't bring himself to look in the direction of the spot she died in and whether it's guilt or sorrow, he's too emotionally inept to label it. “I wasn’t even made aware of your death until three days later,” he admits softly. “Dean claims to have been under the impression I already knew.”

“Even if you hadn’t been drained, do you think you would’ve been able to save me?” she asks airily.

He looks down at the rotten floorboards. “…I would have tried.”

 

It’s the night they kill Uriel again, and he’s standing out in the cold, calling out to her for orders he'll never receive. He still feels the uncertainty, the fear. He’s just returned from seeing Dean in the hospital, witnessing Sam’s desperation.

Eventually, Anna appears, but like before, the conversation doesn’t occur the way it did before.

“Anyone ever tell you that racing thoughts are a bad thing?” she asks, taking the three necessary steps towards him.

“I likely just destroyed myself,” he replies simply. “And for some reason, you seem to be haunting me.”

“A ghost haunting a ghost,” she says with a wry smile. “I could see it. If I were really me, anyway.”

Castiel stares at her, seeing her the same as he had then. Only now he realizes how beautiful she looked. He looks at her lips and wonders what they might have tasted like. If they were the same or different from the pregnant Anna he saw before.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

She puts her hand on his shoulder at the right time, staring hard. “I’ve told you before,” she says. “None of this is real. Eventually, you’re going to have to wake up.”

And as she did before, she turns away from him angrily, walking away. She’s always walking away from him. He calls out to her again, and she turns around with that same sad, sardonic smile.

“You’re not dead, Cas,” she says. “It just feels like you are.”

She turns away again and for some reason, he calls out to her again. His actions surprise him as much as they do her. “What?” she asks softly.

He catches up to her and takes her hands, feeling their weight despite how cold there are. “ _I should have told you how I felt,_ ” he says solemnly in Enochian, the halting syllables more intimate than any word in English or Latin.

Anna presses her forehead to his and closes her eyes. Her lips are just as cold as her hands, but they’re soft against his own. Gentle, featherlike touches that he leans into. It makes his vessel's heart race and there is still fear associated with intimacy in general. It vaguely occurs to him he doesn't even know how to kiss. But for Anna...he's willing to overlook all of it.

When she pulls away, she smiles. There are tears in her eyes. “You just did.”

 

His eyes open and he sits up with a start. It’s another unfamiliar room with a bed, darkened and empty. There’s a pinching feeling in his arm where the needle attached to a tube is inserted, and the machines around him whine and buzz. They've replaced Jimmy's clothing and the garment they’ve given him is hideously uncomfortable.

Eventually, he lays back and realizes he has to breathe. This is a hospital room and he’s the patient. He’s survived Van Nuys, though he can’t remember how. The clock on the wall reads 2:51 A.M.

He remembers he’d been having a dream and perhaps for the first time. He just can’t remember what it was about.


End file.
